


Do I Wanna Know?

by wanderinghooves



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/M, Femdom, Humor, Pining, Riza owns Roy's ass, Riza uses guns to avoid her feelings, Role Reversal, Shoe Kink, Some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 17:50:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13641387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderinghooves/pseuds/wanderinghooves
Summary: He’s suddenly got a bizarre look on his face, somewhere between disbelief and extreme embarrassment, with his eyes locked on her and cheeks a bright shade of red.She thinks, inexplicably, she also glimpses something else.“Colonel?”He attempts to form words with his mouth, his voice appearing a few seconds later.“What…are…you…wearing?”





	Do I Wanna Know?

**Author's Note:**

> https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/31bhdEFbZzL._AC_UL260_SR200,260_.jpg
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bpOSxM0rNPM

I.

It’s his fault. Somehow, it’s always his damn fault.

Riza trudges through the door of her apartment with some effort, a venerable trail of soot gathering in her wake. 

Black Hayate eagerly trots up to greet his master, only to recoil at the grey-brown cloud she creates as she pries the military-issue combat boots from her feet. 

“Sorry, boy. Hard day at work.”

Riza rests a hand on the dog’s head as she drops heavily into a chair, hoisting a boot into her lap. She sighs.

Just as she’d thought. The leather is fried through, the seams beginning to crumble even before her eyes.

Roy Mustang, the bastard. Always burn now, ask questions later.

Including asking if the surroundings are flammable.

 

II.

_Today’s job had begun uneventfully enough. It had been a slow morning and the call came in late, past eleven. Aggravated burglary on the west side, already sorted out by the police save for the unruly burglar himself, who happened to practice alchemy._

_That’s when they roped in Roy._

_In all honesty, any other state alchemist probably could’ve handled the matter equally. But Roy was bored and Riza was sick of riding him to sign his paperwork, so she conceded to dumping the unfinished pile on Havoc’s desk and snatching up the car keys._

_Fifteen minutes later, they were standing on the pavement in front of an old corner bodega._

_A handful of police loitered out front, smoking. Riza caught Roy pulling a face. Lazy bastards._

_Entering the building, there were clear signs of disturbance._

_Shelves had been jostled and some toppled over, spilling their contents in piles. The floor’s wooden panels had been upset in places, traces of dirt poking through here and there, along with odd tendrils of leaves and stems._

_“Plant alchemy. Haven’t seen that in a while.”_

_Riza turned to see Roy crouched near one of the shelves, picking at the upended floorboards gingerly with one hand._

_“Don’t want to get your gloves dirty, sir?”_

_He fixed her with a look, piercing through the fringe of his hair._

_“Insubordination, Lieutenant.”_

_With that, he rose and slipped past her, pushing through a large metal door at the back of the room._

_Riza followed him closely, arriving into a large concrete storeroom. Here and there, stacks of boxes and goods had been disturbed and hastily rummaged back together._

_The culprit had clearly tried to cover his tracks, to unimpressive results._

_They followed the path of destruction critically, eventually sighting upon an unusually large encampment of boxes. Nodding at Roy, Riza silently drew her pistol._

_Almost simultaneously, she was slammed into a metal crate on her right._

_Wincing in pain, she looked down to see two thick roots winding around her calves, pinning her securely to the wooden pallet below. Her pistol laid uselessly a few feet away._

_“Hawkeye!”_

_Her attention snapped to Roy, frozen in bewilderment where she’d been standing a second prior._

_“I’m fine, sir. Get the sus-.”_

_As if on cue, a vine snapped up to wrench her jaw shut. The pallet of boxes they’d been previously focused on exploded, a figure sprinting out from amongst them._

_Roy seemed to make a split decision in his head._

_Throwing his arms to either side, he snapped twice, quick and aggressive._

_Two rings of fire exploded into being. One engulfed the screaming fugitive, while the second filled Riza’s vision with red._

_Her face burned as the pallet she was tethered to burst into flames, disintegrating the vines holding her._

_The scent of burning rubber clouded her nose, and she looked down in disbelief to see the soles of her boots melting onto the charring wood._

_“Damn it, Colonel!”_

 

III.

She arrives to work the next day in a mood.

If there is one thing Riza Hawkeye hates, it’s disorder, and right now she feels like the walking epitome.

Her boots are beginning to crumble noticeably, leaving footprints of dust behind her. It’s all she can do not to shoot the Second Lieutenant when they cross paths on her way to the uniform depot. 

“Sweeping a chimney, Lieutenant?”

“Shut it, Havoc.” 

Thankfully, her destination is near, and she ducks into the depot without further ridicule.

The clerk’s nose is buried in a newspaper when Riza enters.

“Identification?”

“Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye.”

He looks up at that, regarding her with a degree of recognition. 

“Weren’t you just in here last week? For boots?”

“I was.”

“And what do you need now?”

Riza grimaces despite herself.

“…another pair of boots.”

The clerk’s face clouds with confusion at this, but he has the decency not to ask.

“Alright, just a second.”

Abandoning his newspaper on the counter, he disappears into the stockroom. 

It is a full ten minutes later that he reappears, during which Riza has become somewhat concerned. 

“Everything in order?”

“Yes, ma’am. It just seems like you cleaned out the last of our standard size 9 stock when you came in last week.”

She frowns.

“Does that mean there’s nothing you can do?”

The clerk grins triumphantly, heaving a dusty grey box onto the counter between them.

“Not quite. We still had an old pair misfiled in the back. I don’t actually know what these are, but they’re on the approved uniform list.”

Her sigh of relief is audible.

“Thank God.”

Thanking the clerk, she tucks the box under her arm and heads off to her office.

Her shabby state is somewhat more bearable knowing that she will soon be rid of the offending boots, but she is still glad that the office is unoccupied when she enters.

Dropping into her desk chair, Riza kicks her shoes off with relish. Technically, this is a greater breach of protocol than just wearing the ratty things, but at this point she doesn’t care. 

Retrieving the new shoebox, she opens the lid and coughs. A fine layer of dust had settled there.

As the air clears, she pulls out a boot.

And recoils.

Just _how_ old-fashioned were these things?

The boot has a solid platform of rubber, which she approves of, but this fact is ruined by the presence of a heel. It’s unmistakable, at least two inches tall, and ends in a taper that Riza detests. 

This revelation is almost overshadowed, however, the shaft. It just keeps going and going and going, and has to go at least to her knee, if not taller. The boot’s laces somehow manage to run the entire length.

Riza lets her breath out in a strained sigh. Furtively, she glances down at the old boots, laying in a crumpled heap before her. 

Damn it all.

Biting the bullet, she forces the new boot onto her foot with some aggression. 

 

IV.

Miraculously, she manages to wrestle on the entirety of the boots before her unit arrives. 

Hearing the handle to the office door turn, she whips up from her aggravated lace-tying and shoves her legs under her desk, fixing her eyes on whatever paperwork is nearest.

Falman and Fuery, bless them, don’t notice a thing. The latter looks lacking sleep, the former somewhat hungover, and both flop down at their desks without comment.

Breda is a little more coherent. Stifling a yawn, he walks in with a stack of files under one arm, bumping Falman’s shoulder and briefly mussing Fuery’s hair before dumping a handful of papers in front of all of them. The largest pile is left for himself.

The three men sigh.

Riza exhales, feeling supremely silly. 

Why is she so worried about this? It’s just a pair of shoes. It’s not like they’d make fun of her for it, not like-

“Mornin’, you beautiful bastards.”

Havoc saunters into the office, taking a long drag from a dwindling cigarette. He looks tired, but Riza knows better; if there is mischief to be made, he’ll find it.

“Looking swell, kid.”

He socks Fuery lightly on the back of the head, which elicits a tired grunt. Taking pity, Havoc snatches a few papers off the top of his pile and drops them onto his own desk.

Flopping into his seat, Havoc regards Falman for a moment. Understandingly, he pulls open a drawer and produces a bottle of tomato juice, sliding it to his compatriot. Falman receives it in silence.

After flicking a few paper balls at Breda, he launches one at Riza. 

She feels it collide against the back of her head and forces herself not to reprimand him. If nothing else, it’s too early in the morning to acknowledge his nonsense.

“You alright there, Lieutenant?”

“Great, Havoc.”

“Knock the shit off your boots?”

“Sure did.”

He seems to have been expecting more material to work with, because he doesn’t harangue her further, instead contenting himself to reclining in his chair and lighting a new cigarette.

“Where the hell is the Colonel?”

Riza was starting to wonder the same thing herself, but then again, Roy Mustang is never one to abide by anyone’s schedule. She rolls her eyes and pulls Breda’s newly provided files into her lap, sorting Roy’s papers from hers.

Moments later, the door is shoved open, and the Colonel stalks in. He’s nursing a cup of coffee and has a distinctly irritated look about him.

Just what Riza’s day needed.

 

V.

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to confront Roy for a bit, as much of his paperwork requires her signature as well. It takes the rest of the morning for her to completely process these documents; Roy remains occupied for the time by his substantial pile of papers labeled “LATE”. 

Finally, her portion of the work is done, and she raps the stack of files against her desk to straighten them. She’s ordered them by importance and circled the places that require the Colonel’s signature, not for the first time feeling like an overgrown babysitter.

Maybe just a longsuffering spouse, her brain provides unhelpfully.

It’s close to noon now, and the rest of the unit have left for lunch. Riza glances over to Roy’s desk and sees that he’s still scribbling away, maintaining the pout from earlier. 

Sighing quietly, any irritation with him dissipates and she slides open her supply drawer. 

In the back, amongst organized stacks of pens and file clips, is an equally neat pile of candy. 

Slipping a small square of chocolate into her hand, she proceeds to gather her completed papers and set them neatly on the corner of Roy’s desk. He doesn’t look up as she approaches, determinedly frowning at a long report before him.

“Sir?”

“What is it, Lieutenant?”

She pauses, considering admonishing him for his attitude, then decides against it.

“Look over these when you have a moment. They’re in the same order as usual.”

He rubs the bridge of his nose, leaning back somewhat theatrically in his chair.

“They’re trying to kill me, aren’t they?”

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she plays along.

“Who, sir?”

“Command. They’re determined to ruin me.”

“How so?”

Snatching up the report he’d been agonizing over, Roy shakes it at her indignantly. 

“Field reports! I’m a Colonel, Hawkeye, not a secretary!”

Tossing the paper back down in front of him, he slumps forward with his chin in his hands.

“It’s because I torched that store on the west side, apparently. Even though I was the one who saved the MPs’ asses by catching their criminal for them.”

Roy looks very much like a kicked puppy right now, and Riza resists the familiar urge to stroke his head, Hayate-like.

“Sorry about melting your shoes, Lieutenant.”

She lets her face soften ever so slightly, and surreptitiously sets the chocolate on top of the stack of paperwork. 

“Nothing I can't handle, sir.”

He continues to grumble to himself, but she can hear the crinkling of the candy wrapper as she turns and heads back to her own desk. 

Abruptly, a sound like a strangled cat emanates from behind her.

Whipping around, she sees Roy frozen with the chocolate halfway to his mouth. He’s suddenly got a bizarre look on his face, somewhere between disbelief and extreme embarrassment, with his eyes locked on her and cheeks a bright shade of red.

She thinks, inexplicably, she also glimpses something else.

“Colonel?”

He attempts to form words with his mouth, his voice appearing a few seconds later.

“What…are…you…wearing?”

Riza can only stare at him for few moments, before realization dawns on her. Her face flushes, unbidden. 

How could she have forgotten-

At this precise, insurmountably inconvenient moment, the rest of her unit bursts into the office, recognizing the scene far too late.

In the long moment of silence that follows, Riza briefly considers drawing her pistol and ending it all.

Eventually, Fuery ends their suffering, voice barely a squeak.

“Uh, Colonel, Major Armstrong was looking for you…”

Roy doesn’t need telling twice, mechanically bumping into his desk as he walks out with some effort. 

Now all eyes are left on Riza. 

Falman and Breda have enough tact to look appropriately uncomfortable, and Fuery still looks completely terrified; Havoc, however, looks like Christmas came early.

“Lieutenant, what the _fuck_ are those?”

“Shut up.”

Havoc slaps a hand to his forehead, unable to control his glee.

“Oh God, this is so perfect. Everyone knows the Colonel is a leg man-”

For the second time, Riza feels her hand itch for her pistol. 

Repressing this, she clenches her fist and snatches up her remaining paperwork from her desk.

Breda looks concerned.

“Lieutenant-”

“I don’t have to take this.”

Shouldering past them, Riza stalks from the room.

 

VI.

Rebecca Catalina almost jumps out of her skin as Riza storms into her office.

“Riza! What-”

“Scoot over, will you?”

Dumping her paperwork on Rebecca’s desk, Riza moodily drags a chair over from the corner.

Rebecca looks at her with some sympathy.

“What’s up?”

“Men are the worst.”

Rebecca’s eyes cloud at this, and she leans her cheek on her hand with affected drama.

“Don’t I know it.”

Riza rubs her face with one hand, fixing her friend with a look.

“Dammit, Becky, for the last time, not like that.”

Rebecca looks crestfallen.

“Huh?”

“My unit’s somehow found a new way to piss me off.”

“Well, how did they-”

Riza slams a leg up onto the desk, displaying the source of her frustration. She is completely unprepared, however, for her friend’s reaction.

“Ahhh! Rizaaa!”

Rebecca nearly falls out of her chair with excitement.

“Where did you get those? I’ve been looking for _forever!_ ”

Riza can only stare in confusion.

“What?”

“The retro combat boots! I thought they discontinued production after the military started streamlining uniforms!” 

Riza looks down at her boots bemusedly.

“I got them from the depot. They were out of the standards, but the clerk managed to dig these up from God knows where.” 

Rebecca props her chin on her palms wistfully.

“Damn, I wish we were the same size, I’d take those off your hands in a heartbeat.”

Riza laughs shortly.

“What could you want with these things?”

“What _couldn’t_ I want with them?”

Rebecca leans back in her chair, spreading her arms dramatically.

“Imagine. Me. Those Boots. Makeup and hair set. I’ve got me a man, or five.”

Riza can’t help but crack a smile.

“Becky, you could pull that off without the boots.”

“Sure, but imagine with them-”

Suddenly, Rebecca freezes in her daydreaming and whips around to face Riza. The latter notices the new mischief in her eyes with some apprehension.

“Riza. _You’ve_ got them. Ha!”

She bursts into delighted laughter, clapping her hands like a schoolgirl.

“Yes! Finally! This is the best day of my life!”

Now that’s terrifying.

Leaning forward, Rebecca grabs Riza by her jacket lapels, grinning wolfishly.

“Now’s your chance. You have to take him, Riza.”

“I have to what?”

“This is exactly what you need to tip the scales! Get him!”

“Becky, who the hell-”

“I can’t believe it, you and the Colonel are finally going to-”

Riza wrenches herself away from her friend’s clutches at this, attempting to muster a baleful attitude. Judging by Rebecca’s undeterred glee, she doesn’t think it’s happening; infuriatingly, she can feel herself flushing.

“How dare you- I’ve never- why would I-”

“Oh, you’ve got it so bad.”

Stuffing Riza’s paperwork back into her hands and grabbing her by the shoulders, Rebecca cheerfully ejects her friend from her office.

“Don’t you dare come back before you lock him down!”

 

VII.

Bang. Eighteen.

Bang. Nineteen.

Bang. Twenty.

Riza lowers her pistol to inspect her marksmanship. 

Nineteen targets stand before her, perfectly shot through the center. To the untrained eye, so would the twentieth, but Riza knows better. Grinding her teeth, she glares at the target, a sliver of red bullseye still present just there.

_Get a hold of yourself._

She’s distracted and she knows it, and it pisses her off. Handing the training pistol back to the range’s clerk, she removes her jacket. 

Rebecca’s smirking expression rises in her mind.

She needs more firepower to sort this out.

Turning to consider the gun rack on the near wall, Riza selects a long-barreled rifle. She nods to the clerk, who produces a stack of five skeets from behind his station. She retrieves them silently, testing the weight in her palm.

Climbing the steps to her preferred lookout position, she loads the skeets into the mechanical launcher. She’s about to set it off, when-

“Hey! Lieutenant!” 

She looks around, perplexed, before finally spotting Breda on the ground below.

“What are you doing, Second Lieutenant?”

Breda balks slightly, but responds nonetheless.

“I have to recomplete my firearms certification, that’s really why I’m here. But I’d like to apologize for earlier. I know that wasn’t the most preferable situation, especially for-”

“That’s enough.”

Breda deflates somewhat, and Riza immediately feels bad for snapping. She sighs, exasperated.

“It wasn’t your fault, Breda. It wasn’t anyone’s. Well, except maybe Havoc’s.”

He looks slightly relieved, so Riza takes the opportunity to finally start her skeet launcher.

“Happy shooting, Lieutenant.” 

She can hear the machine start to rev, and props the rifle expertly against her shoulder and knee. The extra length of her boot shafts is surprisingly helpful here, providing padding between gun and leg. 

_Forget the nonsense. It’s just a pair of stupid boots._

The first skeet leaves the launcher with a zing, and Riza traces it in her sights. She waits for it to reach the peak of its trajectory, and then-

Bang. The rifle kicks against her shoulder, and the little plaster disk vanishes into dust. 

_But it’s hard not to admit those boots do a lot._

Bang. The second skeet is gone.

Riza sees Roy’s face from this morning, that damn expression. 

Bang. The third skeet.

He looked like a cornered mouse in front of a cat. 

Bang. The fourth.

And she _liked_ it.

Bang. The fifth skeet explodes in her sights, and she lowers the gun.

She liked it. She knows she did, and now she can’t deny that any longer. 

Now she can’t deny several things.

Riza exhales, standing up from her position on the platform and slinging the rifle across her back. 

She’s about to descend the steps once more when she pauses, feeling eyes on her.

Turning, she gazes down the range. 

There he is, because _of course_ he’s here, leaning against a column near Breda as his subordinate is put through his paces by the range clerk. If Riza believed in fate, and she doesn’t, then she would’ve said this was a textbook instance.

Roy’s probably thirty yards away, but she can still read his eyes on hers. His expression isn’t what it was earlier, but it’s similar, and she feels her spine shiver with something base as she recognizes it.

It’s been there before today, she knows. 

Maybe it’s been there all along. 

She narrows her eyes at him, because she knows he can feel her too, and finds herself satisfied as the color builds in his face and he looks purposefully away.

Riza knows, logically, she can’t have him, she’s always known; every military protocol stands in the way of romantic interests. But what she wants right now isn’t anything so noble.

Descending the stairs, she reshelves the rifle and retrieves her jacket with a sense of finality.

She is going to make him squirm.

 

VIII.

Somehow, they manage to miss each other for the rest of the day. 

Part of her suspects this is purposeful on his part, and she feels a little self-conscious. She knows she’s being ridiculous, but she also knows that underneath it all, she needs Roy Mustang; she has for a while.

Some less reserved part of her suspects that he reciprocates. 

She stays way past end-time, her official justification being overdue paperwork, but really, she just wants another shot to push his buttons.

The light continues to fade outside the office windows, and she’s about to resign her chances for today when he enters.

“Colonel.”

He starts slightly, apparently unaware of her presence in the dimness. 

“Lieutenant. You’re certainly here late.”

She leans against his desk where she’d been standing, back to him; now he sees her. Her jacket remains off, now draped over her chair, leaving a fair portion of her arms and neck exposed.

“I could say the same for you, sir.”

To his credit, he doesn’t betray anything.

“Just coming to collect my unfinished work before I head out.”

“Funny. I’ve never seen you take such initiative with paperwork.”

She props one booted leg up on his chair, just for kicks. 

Interestingly, she hears him move closer. He’s trying to keep his voice even and for the most part he’s doing a good job of it, but even without seeing him Riza can tell he’s already starting to crack.

“I can be motivated, occasionally.”

“I’m well aware.”

He is so close now, Riza can smell the leftover gunpowder. 

“Surely you’re not in need of any particular motivation at this hour, sir?”

“And if I am?”

He’s rounding the desk now, he’s so, so close, but she isn’t looking. She is absolutely determined to be resolute here.

“Then you’ll have to convince me, sir.”

He’s touching her now, wrapping a hand around her waist to bring her to him, but she’s faster, grabbing him by his lapels before he can react. 

He’s an inch from her face and she holds him there, determined to dictate this encounter. He seems to be realizing this as she stares hungrily into him, seeing her same need mirrored on his face. His eyes can’t seem to stay away from her mouth, and her stomach churns with lightning.

“Riza.”

His voice is strained, low in a way that makes her resolve waver just a bit, but she can’t lose now, not when she hasn’t even gotten the chance to start. She lets him flail for a moment.

“Colonel.”

“Riza. Just kiss me.”

“That sounds highly inappropriate, sir.”

Want is making him reckless, and he dares to growl at her.

“That’s an order.”

She narrows her eyes at him, gripping his lapels even tighter. Their noses are practically touching, and she feels herself about to falter, so she makes a decision.

“Understood.”

She wants to crush them together, but she doesn’t. That would be too simple, over too quickly. So she lets him in slow, almost agonizingly, relishing the strained sounds he makes in his throat when she catches his lip in her teeth.

He’s trying to push her up onto the desk now, but she’s got other plans, so she braces her arms against his chest and shoves him away from her, into the chair. His brows are furrowed as if this is requiring every ounce of his concentration, and his breath is getting a little shallower. 

Her gaze catches on the red corner of his mouth where she’d bitten him, and her brain buzzes with a primal sort of satisfaction.

Dropping into his lap, her hands makes short work of his jacket as her mouth works determinedly on his. He’s got one hand on her waist and the other threatens to venture up her own shirt, but she pushes it away and buries her hands in his hair, migrating her attention from his mouth to his jaw.

Experimentally, she leans up to deal a sharp nip to the shell of his ear. His entire being tenses at this, and for a split second she’s actually afraid she’s somehow managed to hurt him, but then he whines, low and quiet, so she does it again.

His hand slides to her ass and he presses her to him, and if she didn’t know how hard he was before, she definitely does now.

“Riza-”

“Quiet, sir. Now that’s an order.”

She figures he’s too preoccupied to lecture her for insubordination and if he keeps talking to her with that voice she’s going to lose it, so she diverts his attention by pulling her own shirt off. He manages a strangled sound at this, regarding her like he’s concerned she might break.

She closes her eyes at his touch, allowing herself a moment of vulnerability before she speaks.

“Would you like me to continue?”

His face looks like he’s been hit over the head with something heavy, but he registers her question.

“Yes.”

She grins, pressing her mouth to his neck as she works the buttons of his undershirt. Pushing it off of his shoulders, her fingers begin to work on his belt, and he exhales in bursts. 

He buries his hands in her hair, and she can feel his sweat beading as he presses his forehead against hers.

Pulling the buckle apart as well as the buttons, Riza tugs on his pants hem in frustration. Finding no purchase, she slips down to the floor from his lap, pulling the garment down around his legs. She gazes up at him, gauging his response. She’s still got the boots on and it seems like that is what’s holding a lot of his remaining focus right now. 

“Yes?”

He’s almost trembling now.

“Please.”

With that, she reaches up and frees the whole length of him, suddenly finding herself transfixed. She ghosts her thumb up the underside and his breath hitches.

Wrapping her hand fully around him, she pumps up and down in an experimental rhythm. His fingers curl in an iron grip around the edge of his chair, and she risks going a little faster. 

Her eyes are locked to his face as she does this, intrigued. His brows are furrowed so deeply that his eyes are screwed shut, and his jaw is clenched. He looks as if he’s engaged in some monumental struggle.

Then she puts her mouth to him.

Whatever pressure was building in him explodes out in one ragged, wanton groan that could’ve lasted ten seconds or several years, and she runs her tongue over him mercilessly.

“Riza. Oh my-”

She quickens her pace even further, impatient to hear him make that noise again. 

In the back of her head, she’s worried she’ll send him over the edge too quickly, but this is far overpowered by the desire to keep going, to push him harder, to make him whine.

Her thoughts aren’t far off, and soon her blistering speed has his head is pressed back against the chair, small, choked sounds emanating from his throat; she can feel his fingers tightening in her hair.

Abruptly, he goes silent.

_“Riza.”_

And then suddenly, all at once his hips are canting into her and he’s repeating her name over and over and he comes hot in her mouth, and she can’t breathe but she doesn’t care because she’s finally done it, she’s had him.

After a long moment, she releases him, keeping her eyes on him as she rises and situates herself on the edge of his desk.

He’s bent over so she can’t see his face, but she can see how his shoulders rise and fall in quick succession as he attempts to recover himself. His hair is sticking up in several amusing directions, and she lets herself reach out, stroking through it.

Suddenly, he pulls away, and now she can see his face. He looks exhausted but there’s something else, something competitive in his eyes that Riza’s gut likes very much.

“Exceptional work, Lieutenant.”

“Of course, sir.”

Pressing a hand to her chest, he stands, pushing her down against the desk’s surface.

“Your superior will take it from here.”


End file.
